The King's Mistress

by Sandy Blair

  She clasped his face betwixt her hands. “Britt, I need you to promise me something.”

  He grinned. “Anything you lust.”

  She thumped his chest with a palm. “’Tis serious.”

  He covered her hand with his, pressing it to his chest. She felt his heart take an erratic thud before he murmured, “All right. What is it you would have me promise?”

  “Promise me that you will never go on a crusade.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion, but his heart steadied beneath her palm. “Upon my honor, I promise never to go on crusade.”

  “Thank you.” Much relieved and having taken care of that fear, she readied to broach her greatest. What she would do or say should his answer not be what she wished to hear, she dared not imagine. She could only pray for dignity, to take the blow without falling apart. She took a deep breath. “If your circumstances were different, would you still wish me to find another?”

  The muscles along his jaw twitched, and his arm tightened about her. “Nay, never.” He ran a finger along her lower lip, his expression dark. “Upon my honor, if I were free to do as I lust…if I could change what is, I would take you to wife before the cock’s crow.”

  ’Twas all she needed to hear. He loved her! And now to put his fears to rest.

  “You admired my cattle and sheep, aye?” When he nodded, she said, “I bred them. I ken husbandry as few others do. I’ve the best wool. We can breed your destrier. I ken just the mare. Their foals will be the finest, fetch small fortunes. And we can trade for a few of the earl’s lambs.”

  Her mind filled with possibilities. Together they had the skills to turn any holding, no matter how humble, into not only a loving home but a profitable one. He would never again have to raise his sword save for in defense of hearth and clan. And who kenned, mayhap she and their bairns might even become a force in bridging the rift twixt Britt and his father.

  Heart soaring, she rose on tiptoes and boldly pressed her lips to his. He groaned and deepened the kiss, taking control, his tongue sweeping past her lips as his hands swept over her in urgent fashion, setting her blood afire and her bones to pudding.

  ’Tis glorious, this meeting of mind, heart and body.

  This was what she’d been longing for on those long, confusing nights in Buddle when she hadn’t been able to sleep. A man to love.

  Too soon he ended the kiss and released his hold. Smiling down at her in wistful fashion, he took a step back. “As much as it pains me, I need go, a ghraidh. Else I make the biggest mistake of my life.”

  She blinked in confusion. He had no cause to leave. She loved him. He loved her. He’d said so. He wanted her. She wanted him. So how could his staying and bedding her be a mistake? “But…?”

  He shrugged as if to say he didn’t understand either and, sighing, turned away.

  She clutched the sheet to her aching breast. Tears burned at the back of her throat and pooled in her eyes as he reached for the latch. “Britt?”

  His hand froze. With his back still to her, he said, “Please…I beg you.”

  “I’m a woman of few wants who loves you. Please look at me.” She released her hold on the sheeting and let it drop to the floor so he might see her as she truly was, a simple woman who loved and wanted to be loved, without care for trappings, so he might put his pride aside and listen to his heart. When he finally turned, she saw hunger and an unaccountable longing in his eyes.

  Heart tripping, she whispered, “Was our king not proof that gold can’t purchase happiness? Was his death not proof enough that we can’t count on a morrow? That all we have is our here and now?”

  They stared mutely at each other for what felt like a lifetime.

  Undone by the tears streaming down her cheeks, Britt closed his eyes.

  This woman he had no right to love had bravely put forth on the line of battle every weapon in her arsenal. Her hopes, her fears and her pride. She’d held naught back, then committed to battle without hope of escape. How could he now deny her her victory?

  He could not.

  Heart thudding a hard tattoo against his ribs, Britt closed the distance betwixt them and took her into his arms. “There’s no need to weep, a ghraidh, for I do love you.”

  With every ounce of my being and knowing full well this love sets my place at hell’s table.

  He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down gently, then brushed the tears from her cheek. “You’re certain?”

  She nodded. “Most certain.”

  His gaze roamed over the lush curves he’d so often dreamt of but never dared believe he might actually one day touch, as he tore off his breastplate, his breachen feile, mail and shirt and tossed them aside. Standing naked before her, letting her drink her fill of him, he waited with bated breath. More than one woman had found his proportions intimidating. He had to be sure that if Gen found them so as well—had a change of heart—he gave her ample time to bolt. To his relief, she, nibbling her bottom lip, patted the ticking next to her.

  Lying down beside her, he caused the mattress to trough. She, warm and flushed, rolled toward him and wrapped her arms about his neck. “I’ve dreamt of this.”

  He pulled her close and draped a thigh over hers, cocooning her. “I’ve longed for this moment since first setting eyes on you.”

  She grinned in shy fashion. “I fear I can’t say the same.”

  Not a talker in bed but suspecting she needed time, he asked, “So when was it that you started to fall in love with me?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  He kissed her brow. “Nay, tell me.”

  “When you drank the milk, looked like a pup with a mouthful of stink bug.”

  He grinned. The stuff had been foul. “And when did you ken for certain?”

  “Whilst in the dungeon, when I feared I might not live to see you again. The very thought was more terrifying than any impending torture or death.”

  He’d expected her to say when he’d gifted her with the gray. What a curious creature she was. Truly guileless and wonderful. “I kenned the same, finding you behind those bars…but now you’re here.”

  She murmured hmmm, and he brought his lips to hers, taking his time memorizing the soft, smooth contours, his hands doing the same over her back and hurdies. Her hands burrowed into his hair as she pressed closer, her breath coming in shorter and shorter heated pants.

  Aye, she wanted him, but he would not cross that line. He would bring her to the ultimate pleasure, then, satiated, she would fall asleep, and he, as much as it would pain him, would take his leave.

  He rolled, taking her with him so that he rested on her, his heart’s desire. Looking into her bonnie blue eyes, he silently told her, Oh, but that I could make you mine before God and man.

  He kissed her as if such were the case, trailing kisses down her body from graceful neck to glorious breasts, then lower still as he rocked above her. To his great pleasure, she grew feverish, her breath coming in quicker and quicker gasps. Sooner than he expected, she began to moan and clutch at him. He rolled to his side so he could stroke her most intimate place, bring her to her pinnacle. She gasped at his touch and, keening his name, arched. Kenning where she soared, wishing with all his heart he could follow but not daring, he delved deeper into her mouth, relishing the warm confines, capturing her ragged breaths…

  “Oh! Oh! Britt!”

  As she shuddered and slowly fell back to earth, he froze.

  Somehow, some way during their lovemaking, she’d cocked her leg above his hip, and he, in the heat of passion, had come to her, was now well within her. Fully engorged and throbbing.

  Oh shit!

  How on God’s green earth had this happened?

  She nuzzled his neck and rocked her hips. Wrapped in warm, delicious slickness, his shaft slid deeper. Gasping, he grabbed her hurdies. “Do not move.”

  Oh God, he was in so much trouble. The thought was immediately replaced by a more pressing one. He arched back to better se
e her face. “Did I hurt you, lass?” She grinned up at him, her hand gently stroking his chest. “Nay, Hildy gave me her special oil.”

  Hildy. No small wonder he slid into Gen with such ease. He was going to kill that woman. Genny, sighing, rocked again. Teeth grit, he locked her hips against his. “I said stop that.”

  He had to extricate himself very carefully, or he’d shoot his full quiver, but how? Mayhap if he tried to relax, counted the painted grapes on the walls, he’d go flaccid. Anything was worth a try at this juncture. Dear Saint Bride, why did he have to think juncture?

  He looked down and found her watching him through glazed, half-opened eyes. “Hmm,” she murmured, “Hildy said you would like it when I moved thus.”

  “’Tis precisely the problem.” He liked it far too much. And Hildy, bless her conniving little heart, was definitely not long for this world.

  Genny sighed, causing her breasts to jiggle ever so enticingly against his heaving chest, then licked her lips. “What of this, then?”

  To his utter astonishment, her satin sheath, wet and hot, pulsed repeatedly around his engorged shaft.

  Oh Lord God, he was bound for hell.

  Blood thundering in his ears, his mouth closing over Gen’s, he exploded with a roar on the next heartbeat, deep within her.

  Britt flopped onto his back, carrying Gen with him. She, more content than ever she could recall being, rested her head on his chest. Listening to the slowing rhythm of his heart, she ran her fingers through the dark, silky hair that made a delightful triangle on his chest, then tapered to a thin line down his abdomen. This magnificent man was hers. Needing to share the wonder she felt, she whispered, “I love you.”

  “And I you.” After a moment he asked, “Are you sure you’re all right? That I did not hurt you?”

  “I’m sure. ’Twas ever so lovely. Truly.” And to think she’d yet to experience all that Hildy had told her she had in store! Amazing.

  His chest muscles, which had been rigid beneath her cheek, relaxed, and his hand slid from the small of her back to her bottom. Stroking her, he murmured, “Aye, ’twas definitely that.”

  “Is tupping always so grand?”

  “Nay, not in my experience.”

  Hmmm. She would not ask what went on betwixt him and that Cassandra witch. ’Twas no concern of hers. Britt now loved her, and ’twas all that mattered. And speaking of love…or rather a lack thereof. “Britt?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I need tell you something.” She really didn’t want to, but…

  “What?”

  “I had words with Lady Campbell. I fear I was rather caustic.”

  “I know.”

  She lifted her head from his chest and gaped at him. “You do?”

  Eyes still closed, he grinned. “Aye, she took me aside this evening and asked me to tell you she’s most sorry for what she said.”

  ’Twas the last thing Gen had expected to hear. Dare she trust this change of heart? “Did she say why?”

  He stroked her back. “Only that sisters of the Gaul need stay together.”

  “Of the Gaul? How odd. I’m obviously of Saxon blood, not Plantagenet.”

  “I thought her comment odd as well. In any event, she said you have a friend in her at court, and I lean toward believing her. Lady Campbell is not only astute but a good woman. She makes no bones about whom she dislikes, but if she befriends you, she has the reputation for proving a friend through thick and thin. She begs an audience with you before the funeral procession leaves on the morrow and gave me a packet to give you as proof of her sincerity.”

  “What’s in it?”

  He shrugged. “’Tis in my sporran.”

  He started to rise, and she placed a hand on his chest. “Nay, I’ll get it.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Gen pawed through the mound of clothing Britt had tossed on the floor in his rush to bed her and came up with his sporran, his pouch made from an otter, head, paws and all.

  From behind her, he said, “Open it, a ghraidh. I’ve naught in there that will bite. Her gift is the package wrapped in silk.”

  Gen pulled out the grass green packet secured by a fine cord of silver. “This?”

  “Aye. She said ’tis a treasured heirloom and would appreciate its return in the morn.”

  Gen sat on the bed and untied the cord. “You’re sure this lady can be trusted?”

  He rose on his elbow, his curiosity apparently also piqued. “I’m quite certain.”

  She parted the silk and found the finely crafted silver shell the size of an egg the lady had been wearing just the day before. Dangling the small globe by its delicate chain, she said, “’Tis lovely. Do you think it a reliquary?” From what little she kenned of them, she expected a glass window so one could see the sliver of saint’s bone or hank of hair within, but the shell had none.

  “Mayhap. Try to open it.”

  Genny ran her finger along the fluted edge opposite the hinge and found a wee indention. Placing the shell flat on her palm for fear of spilling whatever it might contain, she held her breath and carefully separated the halves. “Oh my.”

  In the bottom half in a puddle of solid silver sat two perfect cream-colored pearls of identical size nestled side by side. On the other half, she found an inscription.

  Iona et Isla

  I, V, MCCXXX

  Iona and Isla, the 1st of May in the year of their Lord 1230.

  Genny’s heart stopped and then kicked hard before resuming a harried beat. Two pearls, two names, one date.

  Twins.

  She snapped the shell closed. “Do you happen to ken Lady Campbell’s Christian name?” Please God, don’t let this be so.

  Peeking over her shoulder, he said, “Mary, I believe.”

  Ack! Half the woman in Christendom had been baptized Mary—Mary Louise, Mary Agnes, Mary Elizabeth. Given the date, Lady Campbell could be Mary Isla or Mary Iona. But then again, Lady Campbell looked to be no more than thirty. Mayhap her mother had been a twin. Highland lasses were rumored to often wed upon having their first course.

  He took the shell from her numb hands and examined the exterior carving. “What a lovely wee treasure. Italia made, I think.”

  Oh dear God in heaven, what if Lady Campbell kens I’m not Greer?

  Britt held the locket out to her, and she took it with shaking hands. He sat up and draped an arm about her waist. “Is something amiss? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He might trust the lady, but did she dare? “I’m just surprised Lady Campbell would part with this even for a wee while. Do you not find anything odd about it?”

  When he shook his head, she kissed his cheek. “Mayhap ’tis just my imagination.”

  “And what are you imagining?”

  “That she kens I’m an imposter.”

  Heavily muscled arms enveloped her. He pulled her close and, looking most serious, assured her, “She has no means to ken who you truly are, Gen. Ross would not have told her, and I certainly didn’t.”

  “You’re right. I’m being foolish.” When he continued to scowl at her, she forced a smile. “Truly, I’m fine.”

  At least she hoped to be, once she found out what the woman wanted. If Lady Campbell had blackmail on her mind, the woman was about to be sorely disappointed. Genny hadn’t a brass plack’s shaving, much less a piece of silver, to her name…but then she did have the silver-and-jet necklace. Surely Greer wouldn’t fault her for using it to protect them both if need be.

  Genny wrapped the shell back in its protective silk, stood and placed it in the deep pocket of the kirtle she planned to wear on the morrow, then took a steadying breath. Soon enough she would learn what was on the lady’s mind. Until then she would distract herself with positive thoughts about her and Britt’s future together. Which would now take a good bit of planning.

  She’d been so distraught finding Britt on her doorstep that day and then so distracted getting Greer to safety that she’d left Buddle with very little. Not o
nly had she left her mother’s thimble, horn spoons and tongs, but she hadn’t given a thought to the linens she’d managed to adorn in the event she should marry. They were still in the cedar marriage box beneath the eaves. And then there were her flax combs and the spinning wheel.

  Well, they could get them when they retrieved the lambs. But first things first. There could be no wedding until after they’d posted banns.

  Finding Britt studying her again with hungry appraisal, she swatted his arm. “Cease that.”

  Grinning, he reached for her. “Cease what?”

  “You ken wh—eee!”

  Strong arms scooping her up, she tumbled onto his broad chest. Before she could catch her breath, he flipped, and she was on her back with Britt nestled betwixt her thighs, looming over her. “You were saying?”

  Laughing, she tugged on a lock of hair that had fallen over his handsome face. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Mam said much the same thing, but she loved me anyway.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Mothers tend to do that.”

  His good humor suddenly dissolved, his mouth shifting into a hard line. “Not all.”

  She frowned, wanting to understand. “Why do you say that?”

  He shook his head as if to clear it, then smiled. “Best we not dwell on the past.”

  “As you lust.” She would get the information out of him later. Hoping to regain their lighter mood, she asked, “We shall think only of the future. What say you to a date?”

  “For what?”

  “To marry, you goose. Do you think it necessary to pay the cryin’ siller in both your kirk on Skye and to mine? I should think paying and posting banns in one should be sufficient.” Bigamy was rampant in Scotland, and kirk officials were doing their utmost to curtail it, but since neither she nor Britt—

  “Gen, we can’t post banns right now.”

  She studied his grave countenance. “Oh, how thoughtless of me. You’ve yet to lay Alexander to rest, are still grieving, and here I am making marriage plans.”

  Britt brushed a lock from her forehead. “’Tis not that, a ghraidh.”

  He rose and sat on the edge of the bed. She touched his back and found it as rigid as steel. “Britt, what is it? You’re frightening me.”